


It Was Always You

by runkairun



Category: GOT7, Monsta X (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: AU, Confession, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hidden Feelings, Kissing, M/M, Makeout Session, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8786392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runkairun/pseuds/runkairun
Summary: Jackson has been in love with his best friend Namjoon for years, and he has spent most of that time complaining about it to their other best friend, Jooheon.  Sometimes, you have to face your fears, though, and thin walls sometimes act as a fast-forward button in our plans.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lulublue1234](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulublue1234/gifts).



> Happy HoHo, Lulu! This is a little Secret Santa gift for my dear friend with one of her favourite ships. I know you enjoy a good kissing scene, and I thought a little NamSon would be just right to fulfill that for you. Did I mention that I also enjoy fluff? Because I love fluff, and this is so fluffy and squishy, and I'm so happy? SO HAPPY! A special thanks to my wonderful Elf, [bugarungus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bugarungus/works) for helping me to come up with a special gift and also for betaing this for me in short order so it could make a great bedtime story!

In the corner of an apartment that clearly belongs to someone young, male, and unkempt, a subwoofer quietly thrums out the bass of a hiphop playlist.  It’s just background noise, the kind that is rarely turned off except to put on a new album or to allow the owner of that apartment to load music onto the attached iPod.  The table that holds the stereo is a certifiable mess, piled with sharpie-labelled CDs in blank jewel cases and a tangle of various audio cables.  A blue cap sits on top of one speaker and a gray sweater hangs off the right edge of the table, threatening to fall to the dusty ground.  

Much of the rest of the small space of the living room resembles this mess.  A desk sits against one wall, covered in sheet music, pencils, and too many empty pop cans to count.  A few decorations are half buried in the mess, including a special edition vinyl print of NWA’s  _ Straight Outta Compton _ and a Plato bobblehead.  

The decor in the apartment seems thrown together, and yet it manages to work, and it certainly shows the personality of its lone occupant.  The frames on the walls contain a mixture of concert promos, almost pretentious modern art, and inspirational and philosophical quotes on black and white landscapes.  The black bookshelves - four of them - are too filled with books to spare any room for staging, the volumes include textbooks, the great works of philosophers modern and ancient, biographies, and historical accounts.  Of course, there are also two rows of the manga that his friends got him hooked on.

There’s a lone fern by the patio door, the kind of plant that’s almost impossible to kill, but it’s the third that has occupied this space in the span of eighteen months.  The man who lives here refuses to give up on his efforts to keep the plant alive, claiming some philosophical purpose behind it.  His friends know that he just wants to prove that he’s responsible enough to take care of something, since he frequently fails to keep himself fed and watered as it is.

Aside a couple of questionable barstools against the kitchen counter, there’s really only one space to entertain guests.  A worn, gray loveseat sits at an angle to the television, and a young man is sprawled across it.  His long legs are thick with muscle, but not so defined that the denim of his jeans clings them.  His right leg is hitched over the back of the seat while his left dangles over one arm.  His head is propped up on the opposite arm, and he is staring intently at a Wii U master controller.  His face is concentrated, but deep dimples pierce the fair skin of his cheeks, and his lips are curved into a determined smirk.  A wave of bright red hair has been swept out of his face, but it rests precariously at one edge of his forehead, threatening to fall into his line of vision at any moment.  

A black pleather couch faces the television directly, separated from the loveseat by a few feet.  Two more young men are perched upon it, their gazes set intently on the television before them.  Their posture is identical - legs spread wide, forearms just beneath the elbow pressed into their knees, controllers held tight as their bodies swerve with the movement of their on-screen vehicles.

While their posture matches, that is where the similarities end.  The man on the right is shorter, stockier, all muscle and sharp angles in a smaller frame.  His hair is bleached to a white-blonde, and his fringe falls to perfectly frame his meticulously maintained dark eyebrows.  Beneath them, his eyes are round and bright, even in their narrowed focus.  The brown of his iris is like dark chocolate, deep and silky and all too easy to get lost in. His face is undeniably beautiful, with cheekbones that seem to be destined for the peak of Mount Everest, a powerful jaw, and a strong, square chin.  

His deltoids and biceps ripple where they are exposed by the black tank top he has stripped down to.  A pink tongue sticks out between a row of white teeth and his bottom lip, as if it somehow helps his concentration.  His strength flows throughout his body, even apparent in his wrists and fingers, which grip the sides of a Wii Wheel and turn it sharply to the left.

The man next to him is perhaps the polar opposite, but no less beautiful in his own right.  He is long and lean, and his legs stick out a little further while the long, straight line of his back stretches beyond his friend’s shoulders.  His tawny skin is rich and warm, a very different sort of golden than the light bronzing that dusts his cohort’s fairer features.  His slender arms show a faint hint of their tone beneath the green, long-sleeved shirt, but it isn’t a fitted cut to begin with.

Like his friend, his frame flows from head to toe - long neck, trim waist, and while his legs aren’t exactly spindly, they are certainly more slender than those of the other men in the room.  His hands are long and graceful and his thumbs move with practiced ease over the buttons on his classic Nintendo controller.  His own dimples are more subtle than those of his friend on the couch, and they are all but hidden at the moment as his brow furrows in concentration.  His hair is a soft chestnut brown, unstyled and laying flat against his head.  

Aside from the music coming from the stereo that is meshing - not well - with the game songs and sounds, it is relatively silent in the room.  There’s an occasional grunt or whine or muttered curse, but all three are too focused on the game to talk.  That is until the tall brunette shouts in a deep, gravelly tone, “Jackson, watch out!”

On screen, a shell shoots out and hits Wario, while Bowser Jr. whizzes past just before they reach the finish line.  “YES!”  The shout comes from the loveseat, the occupant of which jumps up and tosses the controller onto the cushions as he begins a victory dance.  “That’s right, assholes, time to pay up!  No one defeats the aegyo king!”  His face is scrunched up, his hands up in the air and balled into loose fists as his body wiggles.  His eyes have shrunk into tiny crescents and his dimples seem to have been pressed in by invisible fingers, making him the dictionary definition of ‘cute.’

The blonde groans and tosses the wheel to his right before slumping bodily across his seatmate.  His arms find their way easily around those slim shoulders, and his head falls dramatically against the man’s chest as he pushes them both back against the back of the couch.  “Namjoooon, it’s not faiiiiir!” he whines as he buries his face in the warmth of that chest.

Namjoon chuckles and brings up a hand to pat his friend’s back.  “I swear you cheat, Jooheon.  How do you win literally every time?”  His head is turned toward the loveseat, eyebrow quirked.  He’s not a terribly sore loser, and his lips are turned up in a smile despite his disbelief.  

“You seriously underestimate the amount of time I spend playing this game,” Jooheon replies as he sticks his tongue out.  “No matter,  _ you _ owe me lunch,” he points to Namjoon, “and  _ you _ , Jackson…” his voice trails off.

Jackson perks up, his head shooting off of Namjoon’s chest as he snaps it toward Jooheon.  There’s a vague look of horror on his face and his adam’s apple bobs up and down with a nervous swallow.  “Uh, yup, me, I know.  I’ll do the thing,” he nods, but it’s impossible to miss the hint of fear or hesitation or… something in his shaky voice.

Namjoon’s head turns back toward Jackson, and his arm tightens a bit around the small of his back.  “You okay?  What did he bet you for?  Is he making you go on that roller coaster again next month?”  He remembers the last time they dragged Jackson on a thrill ride, and the shrill screams that left him with more of a headache than the rickety nature of the ride.  The very thought makes Namjoon shudder as he turns an accusing eye toward their friend.

Jackson is torn between leaning into the touch and stiffening in Namjoon’s arms, and the result is a statue like flop onto his shoulder.  “N.. no no!”  His stammer is accompanied by a nervous laugh and Namjoon’s attention returns to him.  “I..it’s nothing like that.”  The smile on Jackson’s face is wide and bright enough to light the whole room as his wide eyes scrunch up happily.  “Just a… deal we made a few days ago.  Nothing to worry about!”  

The smile on Namjoon’s face fades into a confused half-frown, but when Jackson pops up off of the couch and takes their empty glasses to the kitchen, he can do little more than shrug and stretch his arms up over his head.  “Mmmkay, whatever you say,” he mutters as he turns his eyes back to Jooheon.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jooheon smiles as he sits on the arm of the loveseat.  His legs are wide and his hands rest on his knees, and he looks from Namjoon to Jackson and back again.  “What you SHOULD worry about is feeding me.  I’m hungry!”  There’s no room for any question in his voice, which has dropped from its higher, conversational lilt to a deep, commanding tone.

Warm laughter comes from Namjoon, who stands and raises his hands in a form of surrender as he shakes his head.  “Alright, alright, time to feed Honey, I got it,” he mutters, but there is amusement in his tone.  “I’m just gonna go to bathroom before we head out, alright?”  He’s still quietly laughing and shaking his head as he turns to go down the hall.  Seriously, how did he end up with these two characters for best friends?

It takes exactly three-quarters of a second after Namjoon closes the door for Jooheon to cross his arms over his chest and direct a pointed and expectant stare at Jackson.  The blonde groans and his shoulders slump as he lugs himself back into the living room, where he falls to his knees.  He wraps his arms around Jooheon’s legs and looks up with his eyes wide and his plump lips formed into a quivering pout.  “Please have mercy!  I can’t do it now, Honeybear!”  He’s whining and desperate, and Jooheon rolls his eyes, but his resolve does not otherwise falter. 

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Jooheon shakes his leg until Jackson lets him go, and then drags the boy up onto the loveseat.  “A deal’s a deal, Jackson, and I’m tired of listening to you moon over him and pine over everything that you don’t have when you won’t even try to tell him how you feel.”  His words are stern, but there’s a comforting arm wrapped around Jackson’s shoulder, allowing him to nestle into those last few moments of comfort.

The deal has been a long time coming, if Jackson’s being honest with himself, but that doesn’t make him any more eager to face the coming storm.  He can’t remember when it started now, but Jooheon has been more than patient with him.  The three of them have been best friends since their high school years, where they all went through exams, projects, and graduation side by side.  It was natural for them to go on to university together, especially since they were all studying music, but that was where it started to change.

If he thinks hard enough, though, Jackson knows things didn’t change so much as he came to realize the truth.  That is to say, puberty, a decent haircut, and a sudden interest in fashion helped him to see that his feelings for Namjoon were much more than friendly.

Namjoon was his best friend, though.  Namjoon was the person that Jackson could turn to at his worst moments, the person who could offer a few words of philosophical wisdom, the one whose hand felt the most comforting in Jackson’s, the one who knew all of his deepest, darkest secrets.  So instead of telling Namjoon, he’d done what was logical - and told Jooheon. 

For the first six months, Jooheon had been understanding.  He’d allowed Jackson to fret over his crush on their best friend and reassured him that it was certainly not the end of the world.  Time had gone on, though, and it became clear that this was so much more than just a little innocent pining over a good looking friend.

For what is probably the millionth time and then some, Jackson wiggles in Jooheon’s arms and clings to his shirt as he pouts, “You know it’s not that simple.”  He can still remember when they had that discussion, the one that made it clear that sleeping around with as many co-eds as possible was not going to fill the Namjoon-shaped hole in his heart.  

_ “It’s more than the clothes and the new haircut, isn’t it?”  Jooheon doesn’t really seem to be asking, but Jackson is confused all the same as he turns to face his friend on the couch.  “Namjoon,” Jooheon says, as if that clears everything up.  “This… this isn’t just a crush,” he resolves. _

_ Jackson frowns as Jooheon grabs his hand to make sure he has his attention.  “Remember that thing you said to me last night, after Joonie hurt his wrist?”  The frown deepens, but Jooheon’s eyes open wider and his head tilts slightly as he waits for the answer. _

_ Of course Jackson remembers what he said, but now he’s wishing he’d been granted the gift of silence.  He wasn’t, though, so he opens his mouth and blabbers about his  _ feelings _ to the first person who will listen.  He also kind of wishes he hadn’t picked Jooheon to be said confidant.  “Ugh, yeah,” he groans as he sits up and tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling.   _

_ “Okay, but can you blame me!?”  He faces Jooheon again with a defensive spark in his eyes.  “You saw him!  I mean he was all helpless and cute and couldn’t hold his pen in lecture to take notes.  How am I supposed to resist a pout like that?”  The anger turns to desperation somewhere in the middle of his words, and Jooheon grumbles.  _

_ “Yes, great, and what about  _ after _ we dropped him off?” _

_ Jackson swallows and his gaze falls to his thumbs, which are busy spinning in dizzy circles around each other.  “Um.  That.  That I was glad I was there. That I… I like that I’m the one he turns to for help; that it feels - shit.” _

_ There’s clear relief in Jooheon’s sigh, and he grips Jackson’s shoulder with a fair bit of sympathy.  “Yeah man.  I think the crush phase is long gone on this one.  Hate to break it to you, but you’re in love with your best friend.” _

Two, maybe three years have passed, and absolutely nothing has changed about the situation.  Well, except for the fact that Jackson only falls more in love with Namjoon every day, with every sparkle in his eyes when he smiles that stupid, sweet smile that puts the dimples in action and every furrow of his brow when someone sets him off on some philosophical tangent.  The harder he falls, the more he complains, and the more Jooheon has had to put up with his whining.

That morning had been the last straw for Jooheon, though, and before they had arrived at Namjoon’s apartment the bet had been placed.  If Jooheon won the race, Jackson would have to confess his feelings, no matter what he feared the cost might be.  He’d been putting off the inevitable for too long, but that didn’t change his lack of interest in accepting that bet.  Jooheon  _ never _ lost at Mario Kart.  

“I never said it was supposed to be simple,” Jooheon counters, and Jackson is pulled back to the present moment and his looming fate.  “I can guarantee you’re making it ten times more complicated by not telling him, though.  Look, the way I see it you either end up with the best boyfriend in the world, or you’re able to start working on getting your friendship back.  Either way, at least you can stop fucking pining over him, Jackson.  This isn’t healthy, not for any of us.”  

* * *

Namjoon has been done in the bathroom for a long time, but, as per usual, he can’t bring himself to open the door while his two best friends are talking.  He has spent approximately a year and a half pretending he can’t overhear their conversations from the next room, which is not quite as long as the 21 months, 11 days, and - he checks his watch - 14 hours he has known he is in love with Jackson Wang.

He wouldn’t even be in this position if it weren’t for the fact that Jackson and Jooheon seem to think he’s actually half-deaf in addition to being incredibly accident prone.  Unfortunately, he is not, and he has spent too many minutes biding his time while they talk about  _ him. _

Of course Namjoon doesn’t even know who  _ he _ is.  He just knows that this mystery man is apparently the most oblivious excuse for a human being on the planet.  And the luckiest, but he tries not to focus on that part too much.

Namjoon can’t fathom what kind of idiot could stand by while Jackson moons over him so hopelessly and never make a move.  Jackson is at least sensible enough not to obsess over someone who’s plainly uninterested, and even if he wasn’t Jooheon wouldn’t been so supportive if this guy were some loser who didn’t deserve their best friend.

What bothers Namjoon even more, though, is that Jackson has always kept this from him.  He can only assume it’s because Jackson knows his feelings all too well, and that’s exactly why Namjoon has never confessed.  

He’d been planning on it, all those months ago.  He’d had the date set and everything - just he and Jackson, some cocoa, and a walk at Han River.  The moment he had heard them talking about this mysterious stranger, though, Namjoon’s plans and hopes and dreams had come crashing down around his shoulders.  He had swallowed his pride, invited Jooheon to join them for the walk, and started to try to move on.

A year and a half later, though, Namjoon hasn’t been able to do anything of the sort.  He dates casually, goes for coffee and sits through poetry sessions with various classmates who show interest.  At the end of the day there is not a single person in the world who can hold a candle to Jackson.  And Jackson is hopelessly in love with someone else.  And thinks Namjoon is none the wiser.

With a groan, Namjoon presses his head into the cool wood of the bathroom door while he waits for the conversation in the living room to quiet down.  They always stop talking eventually, and he always comes back with a smile and carries on as if his heart isn’t breaking.  He won’t burden Jackson with it, though, not when he knows how serious his feelings are for this mystery man.

A deep breath fills Namjoon’s lungs, and he’s about to open the door and walk out there with the same smiling mask he has worn for nearly two years when Jackson says something to turn his world upside down.

“I know, Jooheon.  I’m just - it’s Namjoon.  He’s… he’s everything to me.  I can’t lose him, but if he doesn’t feel the same way then I… I’m afraid I’m going to lose the man I love  _ and _ my best friend.”

A vacuum seems to have sucked all of the air from Namjoon’s lungs, leaving him staring at the door with his mouth open and a slightly dizzy sensation filling his head.  When he finally breathes again, it’s around two little words he never thought he would be saying.   _ “It’s me….” _  His mind is racing to catch up, looking for all the little hints he has missed over the years, going over all the moments where he has been the oblivious idiot who can’t see the beauty of Jackson’s love where it’s waiting right in front of him. 

In his excitement, Namjoon opens the door so hard that it slams into the wall behind him, but he barely flinches as he storms into the living room with an indecipherable expression on his face.  He can’t quite find the happy place in his emotions between shock, excitement, and fear.  His eyes are wide when he looks at Jackson and Jooheon, who have turned to face him.  

“It’s me,” Namjoon repeats, but his words come out in something of a growl, a response to his irritation with himself more than anything else.  Jackson’s eyes shoot wide with fear and he takes a step back, and that’s all Namjoon needs to stop, take a breath, and try again.

His steps aren’t any slower, but Namjoon isn’t stomping anymore as he approaches the backside of the couch and looks Jackson in the eye.  “This guy you’ve been talking about.  The idiot who can’t see the good thing he doesn’t deserve.  It’s… it’s me?”  The words are a question this time, and his voice is softer, more earnest.  Jackson’s mouth falls open, but he can’t find the words to respond.

“Because of course you knew something was going on,” Jooheon pipes in, and he lets out a bark of thoroughly amused laughter.  “Oh, this is good.  You two, you have some shit to work out,” he suggests, and then he’s on the way to the door, slipping his feet into his Vans.  “I’m taking a raincheck for lunch.  I swear to the president of the university, if either of you leaves this apartment before you figure this out I… I’m finding new best friends!”  His words raise in timbre at the end of the sentence, a final surrender of his patience with this situation. 

Namjoon and Jackson both turn and start to speak at the same time, trying to stop Jooheon, but he holds a hand up and it stops them both.  “Nope, don’t wanna hear it.  Talk.  Figure it out.  I am  _ so _ not sticking around for this one, because no matter how it ends I - nope,” he shudders at the images in his thoughts.

In the next moment, the door is open and closed quickly behind Jooheon, and Namjoon and Jackson are left in the living room with nothing but the odd mixture of old-school rap and the high-pitched, electronic tinkling of Mario Kart to fill the silence.

“I - “ Jackson begins, but Namjoon is bending over for the remote so he can turn off the television.  They both take a breath and manage to relax a little once the sounds of the game have faded, and Namjoon gestures toward the couch.

They settle on opposite ends, with a full cushion between them, creating a space that is both a safety zone and a vast ocean holding them apart.  They both try to start the conversation, once, twice; they cough, the shift nervously.  Finally, it’s Jackson’s voice that breaks through the quiet.

“H..how much did you hear?”

Namjoon scoffs and tilts his head to the side as he looks across at Jackson.  “Which time?”  His voice and expression are enough to tell Jackson that he’s been careless, and worse, that he has somehow managed to hurt Namjoon in the process.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he looks down at his hands, terrified to look Namjoon in the eye.  “I’m so sorry that I didn’t think about it, that I… God how many times have we talked about this with you in earshot?”  He dares another peek up at Namjoon through his white-blonde fringe.  

“Enough,” is all Namjoon can come up with before he swallows and has to take another deep breath.  “I don’t know.  I’ve known there was… something,  _ someone _ for about a year and a half,” he explains.  “You… didn’t answer me, though,” he prods Jackson gently with his words.

The shy smile that softens Jackson’s features makes Namjoon’s heart race, and he has to stop himself from leaning across the space to take Jackson’s hand.  “Ah, well, not just any someone,” he supplies, which makes Namjoon raise his eyebrows.  Jackson’s laughter is warm and soft and entirely different from the excited, booming sound that usually comes from him.  Namjoon thinks he’s never heard anything more beautiful in his life.  

“It was never just any old someone, Namjoon.  It was always you.  For… I don’t know.  Two  years or three or… whatever.  And I thought it was just a stupid crush because, you know, you started working out and wearing those sweaters and the glasses and….”  Jackson clears his throat to stop himself, but he can already feel the blush creeping up into his ears.  What surprises him is the way Namjoon has straightened up and seems genuinely interested in what he has to say.

“It’s not, though.  Just a crush, that is.”  Jackson is nothing short of terrified, but he makes himself look up at Namjoon, forces himself to catch his gaze while he says the thing he’s been avoiding for so long.  “Namjoon I’m….  You’re my best friend and my closest confidant, the one person who can always make me smile, but still allows me to cry when I need it and....”

Namjoon wants to let him finish, he really does because he’s dreamt of hearing the words Jackson is about to say for a very long time, indeed, but for probably the first time ever he can’t wait and let his best friend speak, first.  

“Jackson, I’m in love with you.”  Namjoon blurts the words out so quickly that Jackson snaps his head back and is about to ask him to repeat them.  “I have been in love with you - or, at least I’ve known - for 21 months, 11 days, 14 hours and -” he pauses to look at his watch again - “about six minutes.”  He looks up again as he completes the sentence, offers a small shrug and a toothless smile but it’s probably the most genuine expression that has ever made a home on his face.

A few blinks and many more seconds later, Jackson is still sitting with the most dumbfounded look on his face.  When he finally speaks, it’s definitely not what either of them were expecting to hear.  “You have  _ got _ to be shitting me.”  

Namjoon balks slightly, and then Jackson is off the sofa, pacing with his fingers in his hair as he tries to put the pieces together.  “Are you seriously telling me that I’ve spent all this time mooning over you and  _ freaking the fuck out, _ and not only was it completely unnecessary, but you’re not even going to let me properly  _ confess!? _ ”  He stops, shoots a glare at Namjoon, and suddenly a long arm reaches out and strong hands pull him down to the couch.

This is, admittedly, a far more intimate position than he thought he was aiming for, but Namjoon is too busy thinking about how good it feels to have Jackson’s strong thighs flex around his hips as he settles down and how pink and soft his lips look this close and how gorgeous his brown eyes are beneath long lashes, and… well he’s too busy to think about the fact that they haven’t even gotten all the words out and Jackson is straddling his lap on his dirty, old couch.

Jackson’s breath puffs over Namjoon’s cheeks, and he has to put so much effort into breathing and not kissing that he thinks he might burst.  Somehow, though, he manages to lock onto Jackson’s gaze and say what needs to.  “Confess, then, Jackson.  Please,  _ please _ tell me this is not some crazy Mario-Kart induced dream that only my mind could conjure.”

The whole thing took him by surprise, but Jackson has to admit that, once again, Namjoon knows exactly how to bring him back to his center.  He can’t help but smile, because of course Namjoon would suggest this is some strange dream, and in response he shakes his head, soft blonde locks swishing with the movement.  “Nope, no, definitely not a dream.  You know I love you, but even you’re not  _ that _ creative, Kim Namjoon,” he admonishes.

One second.  Three.  Six seconds pass before Jackson realizes that he’s said it, and it was so easy and natural that he wants to rip out the part of his brain that has kept him from doing it for so long so he can yell at it face to face.  Instead he laughs softly and allows his head to fall to Namjoon’s shoulder while his fingers curl into the supple cotton of his shirt.  Long, firm arms circle protectively around the small of his back and he can feel himself melting, but he has to say it properly before they do this.

So Jackson sits up, moves his right hand to cup Namjoon’s perfectly shaped jaw, and looks at him more closely than he has in a decade.  “I love you, Namjoon.  I love you so much that I’ve been making myself sick over telling you for years because -”

Namjoon’s finger comes to rest over Jackson’s lips and he stops talking, but his heartbeat races into the stratosphere.  “Good,” Namjoon says, and his eyes aren’t on Jackson’s anymore, but staring instead at the pink,  glistening prize that his finger is slipping away from.  “I’m going to kiss you now,” he rumbles in a low tone that sends a shiver through Jackson’s spine.

“Mmm,” Jackson replies, but the sound is caught in Namjoon’s mouth.  Everything is soft and gentle and tentative at first.  They press together in the most chaste fashion, just feeling, understanding, accepting that this is actually happening.  Jackson’s hand trembles a little before it falls from Namjoon’s cheek to his neck, and then he presses in a little harder, some of his need winning out over his patience.

Namjoon smiles against Jackson, and then he’s moving, dragging his bottom lip upward to capture Jackson’s and encourage him to explore.  He wraps his left arm more tightly around Jackson’s middle and pulls him so that their chests are almost flush against each other, while his right hand falls to Jackson’s hip.  Their eyes have long since fluttered shut, and each shift of their bodies starts to come more naturally with each second that passes.

For years, Jackson has wondered what Namjoon would taste like.  He’s spent his daydreams imagining how he would fit into those arms, his spaced-out moments in class thinking about the slightly chapped texture of these very lips.  Dreams aren’t necessary anymore though, and they absolutely pale in comparison to the real thing. 

There’s a hint of spice lingering on Namjoon’s lips from the kimchi he ate with breakfast, and it serves to make Jackson’s skin tingle.  Beneath that there’s something earthy, rough and spring-like that makes up the flavour that is Kim Namjoon.  It’s grounding, an anchor keeping Jackson tied to the earth and right-side up when he feels as if he could spiral out of control all together.

He wants more, so when Namjoon releases his bottom lip from that sweet, inviting little suckle, Jackson drags the tip of his tongue along the seam of Namjoon’s mouth until it parts for him.  They are both almost shy in their movements, but soon their tongues tangle somewhere in the middle, and their noses are pressed so closely together that it’s difficult to breathe, but Namjoon is all the air Jackson thinks he will ever need again.

After the briefest dance, it’s Namjoon who takes charge.  His right hand travels up over Jackson’s back until it reaches the nape of his neck.  He pulls Jackson closer, presses into him, lets his long tongue reach in and drag over the roof of his mouth before sweeping further.  Jackson sighs into the kiss and Namjoon’s fingers finally lace into his hair, tugging just enough to give a pleasant pressure that counters their kisses.

They part, but it’s only briefly, and even when their lips aren’t on each others, Jackson is mouthing, dropping little kisses to the corner of Namjoon’s mouth, up along his jaw, over his neck.  “God I’ve wanted to do that so long,” Namjoon groans appreciatively. 

Jackson pulls away just enough to press his hands into Namjoon’s shoulders so he can shove him against the back of the couch.  “Then why did you stop?”  The question is breathless, rushed, and this time when their mouths clash it is desperate and hard and not at all that sweet, soft way they began.  His teeth nip at Namjoon’s bottom lip and drag it out before he’s chasing his way into hot, wet, welcoming warmth.  Jackson was never one to give up control so easily, and this is hardly the kind of place to make exceptions.

A gravelly moan escapes Namjoon, and he eagerly pulls Jackson in to remove what little space remained between them.  His fingers tighten in blonde locks, and then it’s Jackson who’s crying out, a sound much more musical than its counterpart.  Together they form a lovely, hungry chorus of sighs that seems to consume them.

When they break apart again, they’re both seeking more skin, more sensitive spots, more ways to bring themselves closer to each other.  Namjoon licks and sucks his way down the column of Jackson’s throat, his hand tugging the blonde’s head back to expose that path to his mouth.  He releases just a little when he finally buries his nose in the crook of Jackson’s neck and pushes his tank-top aside to access his clavicle. 

Jackson is panting by the time he can finally reciprocate, and the resulting flurry of kisses and bites lacks any caution or finesse.  His teeth are sharp in their assault, but it’s his tongue that finds the shell of Namjoon’s ear first.  He tugs lightly at the lobe, tilts his head to give Namjoon space, seeks the sensitive divot behind his ear with his open mouth and -

They move so quickly, Jackson thinks he’s seeing stars, at least until Namjoon slots a leg between his thighs and gravity manages to kick in again.  All too easily, Namjoon has turned them so that Jackson has his back pressed into the old, worn material of the couch, and he can’t get enough of the delicious pressure that comes with the weight.

Namjoon is attacking Jackson’s neck again, and his hands have moved now, and they’re pushing up his tank top, his long fingers tracing over every nook and cranny of Jackson’s defined abs.  “Mmmm, oh,  _ Namjoon, _ ” he moans, and he has little control over the way his hips roll into the steady weight of Namjoon’s body.

“Fuck!”  Namjoon growls and bites, hard, not thinking about the mark that’s going to be left to the left of Jackson’s Adam’s apple.  He grinds back against that incredible heat, and again, and he’s about to lose himself when something starts  _ vibrating _ in his pocket and….

“Shit!”  Namjoon jumps about ten feet in the air, lands on the opposite end of the couch and scrambles to reach the phone shoved into his pants pocket.  Jackson is panting, eyes blown wide with lust as he processes everything that just happened, it’s not until Namjoon starts laughing that he’s finally pulled out of his haze.

Breathless, Namjoon chuckles as he passes the phone to Jackson and shakes his head.  “The kid sure has interesting timing.”  He pushes his hair back off of his forehead as Jackson takes the phone, and then he’s laughing, too. 

 

 

Soon, they’re both sitting up again, catching their breath while Namjoon types out a hasty reply.  “Well,” Jackson sighs as he tries to straighten out his tousled hair.  “I suppose we should probably be good friends and feed the kid, right?”

“Mmm,” Namjoon agrees as he pockets the phone, but instead of getting up, he crawls across the couch again and captures Jackson’s lips in a tender, lingering kiss.  When they pull apart, his long fingers are dancing over a spot on Jackson’s throat, and he’s surprised to find that it’s tender.  “I’m somehow guessing that you don’t have any makeup with you?”  The question might be innocent, if it weren’t for the devious smirk that curves his lips and sparkles into his eyes.

“KIM NAMJOON!”  Jackson gasps and slaps Namjoon’s shoulder, feigning offence as he darts off the sofa and into the bathroom.

The space is good, it gives them time to settle and lets their blood drop from a full boil to a light simmer.  Namjoon chuckles, peels himself off the couch and follows Jackson a little more slowly.  He leans against the door while Jackson checks the mark and then sends a scowl in his direction.

“What?”  Namjoon shrugs and bats his eyelashes at Jackson, who proceeds to throw a towel at him. 

“Please, leave the aegyo to Jooheon.  You are anything but innocent sir… not that I’m complaining.”  Now it’s Jackson who’s wearing the smirk, and Namjoon is so tempted to kiss him again, but his phone buzzes once more in his pocket.

 

  
  


“As much as I’d like to make you  _ not complain _ some more, I’m pretty sure if we don’t get downstairs Jooheon is going to tear in here and then we’ll owe him ten meals instead of one.  He’s already demanding gourmet cuisine,” Namjoon chuckles.

Their hands find one another’s naturally as they walk to the door, and they’re almost reluctant to part to put their shoes on, but somehow they manage.  The stereo is turned off via remote, a sweater is wrapped around Namjoon’s shoulders, and a hoodie manages to keep Jackson warm  _ and _ cover the mark so that certain curious friends don’t get too nosy.

“Besides, I need to refuel,” Namjoon suggests as he holds the door open for Jackson.  There’s a curious quirk of eyebrows as he locks the door, and then Jackson is caught off guard by another quick, chaste kiss.  “I’m going to need fresh energy if we’re going to pick up where we left off later,” he growls into Jackson’s ear.  It’s such a tease, but it’s everything Jackson has wanted for so long.

They practically run down the hall hand in hand, and when they reach the door at the bottom floor, a much-too-loud voice talks about anything  _ but _ the way they’re sticking so close.  And it’s new.  And it’s different.  And it’s something they’re both more than ready to explore.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the fluff! Your comments, kudos, and shares of this work are deeply appreciated in the most genuine sense. I am so grateful to all of you who take the time to read what I write! I truly love sharing my work with this incredible community!
> 
> I like new friends, so come find me on tumblr at [markmywordswithsong](http://markmywordswithsong.tumblr.com)


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